


Sir Boast-A-Lot and the Naughty Little Hobbit

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: All stories are better with dragons added, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Dub-con/Non-con, Interspecies Sex, Magic Curse, Mild BDSM, Other, Smauglock, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: This silly little story imagines Sherlock and John as characters in a not-so-classic fairy tale definitely not to be read to children.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sacrifices Must Be Made](https://archiveofourown.org/works/904589) by [Winter_of_our_Discontent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent/pseuds/Winter_of_our_Discontent). 



> I used this fic earlier as a "story within a story" as I crafted an ending to an unfinished work. ChrisCalledMeSweetie decided to hand off their fic [Our Divinest Senses ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7820518) after series 4 interrupted the flow of their writing. Though you can find this tale embedded in [Our Divinest Senses - Another Ending, ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9520931) I decided to post this story alone as well.
> 
> Got to give a big shout out to my hubs - I wrote the tale from another prompt from my other half. The inscription over the door was completely his idea. (Thanks, Boo!) Since he asked to see the finished story, I figured I'd post it for you guys too. ;) 
> 
> Also, giving credit where it's due, I was greatly inspired by . . . "Sacrifices Must Be Made" by Winter_of_our_Discontent as well. LOVED that story. Go check it out if you haven't already! :)

.ooOOoo.

 

Once upon a time there lived a young prince known as Sir Boast-A-Lot. It wasn’t his real name, but he was such an insufferable know-it-all, bothering everyone about the castle, that someone called him the nick-name and it stuck. Soon no one even remembered what the prince was actually called. Despite the name, the prince continued sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. One day a woman, a distant relation, came to visit the castle. Unbeknownst to the prince, the woman was a powerful sorceress. When the prince insulted her that night at dinner, revealing private facts about herself for all and sundry to hear, the woman was enraged.

Magic swirled around her as she pointed a long, bony finger at the know-it-all. “I curse you to wear the pain on your skin that you have caused others. May you bear the shape of a monster until you can know true compassion.”

The prince felt a horrible writhing begin over his entire body. He ran as fast as he could from the dining hall into the night trying to escape the spell, but the magic had wrapped its tendrils around him. As he ran, he felt himself twisting and growing until he had turned into an enormous dragon. There was no way he could return to the castle having grown to almost half the size of it, so reluctantly, Sir Boast-A-Lot left his home, raising his wings to the breeze to find somewhere more dragony to roost.

The prince flew for several days, encountering angry villagers who shot flaming arrows at him whenever he drew too close to a settlement. At last, exhausted and sore, he found a dragon’s lair in the mountains that seemed to have been abandoned, a perfect place to curl up and lick his wounds. To his wonder, the prince discovered that as a dragon, he had a magic of his own. For protection, he willed a large stone to block the entrance to the underground chambers, securing it with a spell. Only he or someone who knew how to crack the code written over the entrance could summon the magic to open the door.

Meanwhile on the other side of the kingdom, there lived a small hobbit who was not quite the same as the other hobbits. You see this hobbit had left the shire and gone to battle some years ago, and it had left scars on his body, but even deeper scars on his soul that no one could see. It made a divide between himself and his kinfolk so that even when he returned home, he found himself restless, and unable to enjoy the things that he had loved before.

When a band of dwarves came to the shire looking for someone join their quest, the Little Hobbit was the first to volunteer. The dwarves told him they sought an enchanted jewel, one that resided in a citadel beneath the ground in their ancestral home, a place guarded by a fierce dragon. Armed with only his wits and a small sword, the Hobbit traveled with the dwarves for many days and nights through inhospitable landscapes and unspeakable dangers to reach the dragon’s lair.

When at last they reached the entrance to the underground citadel, weary from travel, they were dismayed to see the large stone blocking the way. The dwarves noticed the markings etched into the rock wall above the entrance, but try as they might, none of them could decipher the strange language and speak the words to open the way. The Little Hobbit who was even more foot-sore and tired than the Dwarves, pushed his way through to see the inscription himself. As luck would have it, the words were written in Ancient Hobbitish, an older version of the dialect spoken around the shire, and the Little Hobbit had no trouble at all making sense of the words. Heat rose over his face, and he bit his tongue lest he say anything that gave his knowledge away.

“Here, now, what’s all this gibberish?” one of the Dwarves grumbled.

“It’s not words that I’ve ever seen before,” another declared, scratching his bushy beard.

They tried to simply push the rock aside with their combined strength, but the boulder had been set by magic and would not be moved by any other force. A great melancholy descended over the group at their failure. The dwarves were nearly ready to concede that their journey had been in vain when the little Hobbit felt compelled to speak.

“I can read the words,” tumbled from his mouth in a great rush.

“What?” the dwarves exclaimed rounding on the Little Hobbit. “You’ve known all this time and said nothing?”

“Well, it’s just that it’s a bit rude.” The Little Hobbit shuffled his furry feet against the ground hoping to stave off the inevitable. “I’d rather not say it aloud.”

The dwarves being dwarves were of course use to rough living and rougher language, and fairly desperate to reclaim their jewel in the mountain. They assured their hobbit friend that nothing he could read aloud would affect them in the slightest.

The Little Hobbit pulled up his courage by the boot straps, stood tall and read in a quavering voice “I am a very, naughty little hobbit, and I need to be spanked.”

Going against their word, their dwarves broke out into gales of laughter at the Little Hobbit who had blushed clean up to his pointed ears. Chortling and giggling, the dwarves clutched their round bellies with mirth until the grating sound of the large stone moving stopped them. When the stone had moved back just enough to allow a very small person to slip through, the dwarves patted the hobbit on the back and wished him luck on this quest to find the hidden gem.

The Little Hobbit felt his courage had quite deserted him. He forged ahead down the long, dark tunnel bolstered only by the dwarves’ assurances that surely he was too small to be noticed by the dragon. Sadly, though, they had neglected to think of the dragon’s advanced sense of smell.

The creature, who had once been Sir Boast-A-Lot, dozed on a pile of treasure that another dragon had gathered before his arrival, dreaming of plump, lazy sheep. He’d not been hunting for several days, and it seemed his stomach would soon need to be appeased. Something in the air alerted him though, and he twitched awake, rousing to sniff a new presence in his stronghold. Carefully, he moved back into the shadows, sinking beneath a pile of coins to hide and plot as the intruder made his way into the great hall.

The Little Hobbit had only a cursory idea of what the dwarves’ magic jewel looked like, but he’d been told he’d know it when he saw it.  His eyes grew round at the mounds of treasure heaped on the floor before him. Just as he thought he’d spied something twinkling and made to move closer, the coins shifted under his feet, and the mighty dragon’s head burst forth.

“Who is there, who dares disturb my rest?" the dragon roared.

The Little Hobbit, who had found a treasure chest to hide behind, quaked all the way to his furry toes hoping he wouldn’t be found out.

“Come out,” the dragon insisted. “I can smeeeelllll you.”

Deciding he had no chance of escape, the Little Hobbit bravely stood to accept his fate. Instantly the dragon dove out and pounced, caging him between outstretched talons that pinned him to the ground.

“So, how did you get in my lair, little thief? I had spells on the door.”

“Please, sir,” the Little Hobbit’s teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak. “I meant no harm,” he lied. “The words over the door were written in Hobbitish. It wasn’t hard to read them."

“But there are no hobbits for miles and miles from here. Few people have even seen a hobbit, they never leave their shire. I felt certain no one would be able to read . . .”

The dragon broke off to bend his neck down, bringing his face closer to his little prey to breathe his scent in deeply. The little creature who writhed so appealingly in his talons smelled of brisk mountain winds, something sweet like honey, and a deep earthiness like good fresh soil turned over in the springtime. After being drenched in the smells of cold stone halls, and sharp metallic treasure, the dragon welcome the scent of simpler, softer things.

“You must be a hobbit,” the dragon concluded with some surprise. “I’ve never actually seen one before.”

“But you wrote your password for hobbits to read,” the Little Hobbit managed to squeak.

“It was a joke. I got it from a book.” The dragon shrugged, peering closer at the small thing in his mercy. He snaked out his long forked tongue and licked over the creature’s face. He tasted like sweet yeast rolls, something the dragon hadn’t had in years.

“Please, sir if you’re going to eat me, do it and make it fast.” The Little Hobbit screwed his eyes shut tight, bracing himself.

“Eat you? I wouldn’t dream of it,” the dragon snorted. "You’re the most interesting thing to happen here in months."

Though the hobbit wriggled and protested, the dragon used the tip of a talon to carefully strip away the creature’s clothes, holding him down to better examine him. The dragon ran his warm rough tongue delicately over the hobbit’s body into every crack and crevice noticing that after a few minutes, the creature was no longer trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but was spreading his legs to grant him better access.

 The dragon brought the Little Hobbit to his climax easily, then tucked him up against his body to stay warm as he dozed afterwards. When the wee thing awoke, the dragon flipped him on his front, and repeated the process, licking into the hobbit until he was drowning in ecstasy. Later, when the intruder seemed to have fallen asleep for the night, the dragon found costly fur capes from a chest to drape around him. When his hobbit seemed well settled, the dragon slipped through a hidden crevice in the top of the mountain, and flew off to hunt.

The next morning, the Little Hobbit stretched and rolled awake to find an entire cart of produce and a freshly-roasted lamb awaiting his pleasure for breakfast.

“Do you want some?” he asked the dragon politely before he tore into the feast before him.

“No I ate already. I prefer my food on the hoof, as it were,” the dragon snorted, “but please, help yourself.’

The Little Hobbit tucked into his meal with gusto, and the dragon felt an unexpected pleasure course over him at watching the little one so enjoying his food. They talked of inconsequential things as he ate, the dragon asking after the hobbit’s journey, and his life back in the shire. When at last he was done, the dragon pressed the hobbit again, asking why he had really come to his lair. With a blush, the Little Hobbit admitted to being on a mission to find the dwarves’ missing gem.

“What this one, the glowing rock?” the dragon asked, easily picking it out of the hoard of treasure with a claw.

“Why yes, I think so.”

“Oh, they can have it. I don’t care about it.” The dragon shrugged. “To be honest I don’t care about any of it, it was here when I arrived.”

The Little Hobbit was excited to take the gem and leave, but the dragon shook his head. “I think not little thief. I’ve grown to enjoy your company. You aren’t leaving.”

“But my friends—they’re waiting outside for me.”

“Well, they can have the jewel, but they can’t have you. You’re mine now.” The dragon flew to the entrance where the boulder blocked the entryway. With a few muttered words, the large stone creaked and rolled to the side. The band of dwarves camped outside were greatly surprised when an enormous dragon poked out to chuck their beloved gemstone at their feet.

“There you’ve got what you came for. CLEAR OFF!” he bellowed, punctuating his roar with a blast of flame. The dwarves offered no dissent. They quickly grabbed their things and ran, obviously chalking up the Little Hobbit as lost, and were heard of no more.

After that, a sort of agreement seemed to have sprung up between the dragon and the hobbit. The Little Hobbit didn’t try to escape, and in exchange, the dragon brought him anything he desired to keep him well. Each morning, he presented the hobbit with new food that he had foraged, and each evening, he brought him to writhing orgasm in new and varied ways. One night he used the flat of his tongue to spank the hobbit quite soundly before wrapping his tongue around his cock to bring him off. The hobbit sobbed his thanks.

Many of the boxes heaped about the hall yielded practical things like plates and cups (though plated with gold,) and enough clothes that the Little Hobbit was never cold. The hobbit found that the dragon liked to have the scales scratched under his chin and along his back, and he would climb over him to perform this service for him, getting to places the dragon couldn’t easily reach himself.

“You’re like a great housecat.”  The Little Hobbit smiled scratching him behind an ear flap. The dragon rumbled out something like a deep purr in reply, and the Hobbit laughed in delight.

Eventually the day came when the dragon looked at the Little Hobbit and noticed that he was growing pale and wan living underground. He realized that a creature of green, and sun should not live this way. Though it pained him, he made his decision.

“Hobbit, I want you to know that you are free to go. You may carry anything you’d like of the treasure, and return to your shire.”

The Little Hobbit’s mouth dropped open in surprised. “Are you not pleased with my company any longer, O Dragon?”

“Your company is worth more to me than any costly item in this accursed lair, but I will not have you stay and live your life in the dark like this. You must go and be where you belong.”

“But what of you?” the hobbit protested. “You could come with me.”

“I am a monster,” the dragon sighed. “I must live outside the settlements of civilized creatures banished to the shadows where I belong."

“I won’t go.” The Little Hobbit shook his head and stood up, bringing himself to his tallest height, which next to a dragon was hardly anything at all. “I won’t leave you. Don’t you know, where you are _is_ my home now.” He flung himself against the dragon’s side and held on. In that instant, a shimmer of pure magic rippled over them, and he found himself embracing not a great beast, but a tall thin man with eyes like summer rain.

The prince introduced himself and explained that he had been under a curse which they had just broken. When the hobbit had gotten over his shock, they found clothes and boots for the prince, and sacks to hold as many gems as they could carry. Side by side, they left the citadel to find what adventures they might in the wide world together.

 

.ooOOoo.


End file.
